


Dandelion Wishes

by radicallyred



Series: Pick up the Pieces [3]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Cynthia Murphy Is a Good Mother, Dead Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Other, Sad, Tree Bros, im crying, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:44:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicallyred/pseuds/radicallyred
Summary: Cynthia visits the grave for the first time since her son's funeral.





	Dandelion Wishes

“No mother should have to bury a son.” -Stephen Adly Guirgis 

**September 9, 2016**

“Cyn?” Larry’s voice sounds far away, almost like a dream. She searches for his eyes, meets them and watches her husband smile softly at her. 

She’s standing in the center of their room, dress zipped only part way “Let me help, honey.” And his hands are suddenly on her back. He zips her dress and turns her so they’re face to face. Her eyes meet his and his thumbs wipe away tears. 

“His funeral…” Cynthia mumbles. Larry sighs, running his fingers through her hair, not tangled for the first time in days. He pulls her to his chest, brushing his lips against her hair.

“I know.” He holds her gently for a moment before she pulls away, looking Larry in the eyes. “It’s going to be okay.” She swallows, kisses him on the lips gently and silently clutches his hand. She doesn’t let go until they leave the cemetery. 

How she got through the service, she will never know. She cried silently alongside Zoe, wondering how on earth Larry wasn’t crying. Wondering how he was still the face of peace and calm when literally everything around him was burning. She couldn’t bear with a wake, so they decided to skip it entirely. It is what Connor would have wanted, after all. 

October 29, 2017

It’s been over a year since Cynthia Murphy stood here last. It looks the same, slabs of stone marking the fallen. One marking her son’s resting place. Her son. She’s had goosebumps before she even stepped foot out of the car and standing in the early fall breeze isn’t helping. She tugs her cardigan as close to her body as possible. 

**CONNOR THOMAS MURPHY**  
JULY 29, 1998-SEPTEMBER 5, 2016  
A GREAT SON AND WONDERFUL FRIEND 

Even now, more than a year after writing the words on a piece of paper to make them literally set in stone, her stomach churns. Her depression is still a raging fire every second of everyday because part of her is missing. She nearly breaks into tears almost every time she passes his room, the door still cracked open, fist shaped hole and all. She has started to pack it up a hundred times and has failed each time, knowing that as soon as she picks the pieces up her Connor will be gone for good. 

“Hi, baby.” She finally speaks, gently laying a hand on the cool stone. “It’s me.” She swallows thickly and centers herself. “I’m so sorry that I haven’t been here. It’s...hard. Losing you is the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Cynthia closes her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks freely now. She’s quiet for a moment, looking at the trimmed grass and flowers at the base of the headstone.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. The therapist told me to come here, that if I did things might be better for me.” She looks down at her nails and is quiet, trying to hold back her tears.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday. Your father and Zoe came, though. In all honesty, I didn’t leave the house that day. It was raining so I had an excuse, but I just couldn’t bring myself to drive past Krispy Kreme and not get you donuts, or go sit by the pool and not see you and Zoe splashing around with your friends.” This makes her heart sink, and she winces as a memory floods her mind: Connor’s ninth birthday. 

Her happy little boy, gap toothed and freckle faced standing on the pool deck wrapped in a shark towel surrounded by five of his best friends as he leans to blow out the candles on his spiderman cake. That’s how she likes to picture him, a happy kid with friends to lean on. There is a picture hanging on the wall as you go up the stairs in their home of Connor blowing on a dandelion, making a wish. She wonders what he wished for. She wonders when things changed, when he stopped wanting to celebrate. When he stopped wanting to live. 

She shudders, eyes closed tightly. “I regret a lot of things.” She says somberly. “The biggest thing is my last memory of you. We were so angry, yelling and fighting. I thought I would be able to go in, like I always did, and turn off your light when you fell asleep. And then...when you weren’t there I figured you would be back in the morning, so I went to bed.” She swallows, electing to sit on the grass in front of the stone. “When those officers showed up, I thought my life was over.” She picks at a loose thread on her sweater. “I would give anything to be in your place. A mother should never have to bury her child.” She wipes her eyes, silent as she watches a woman and a small child walk by a few yards away. 

“I tried everything to make you happy. All those counselors said just keep trying to chip away at you. So I would push and you would pull away from me even further every time Hell, I even tried giving you tea and ice cream and taking you to retreats, letting you do whatever you wanted But nothing was enough. Was it me? Was there something I should have done differently? Because I would redo it all for you.” She stops, chest heaving and body shaking. She takes a deep breath and just stares at the tombstone. 

“Part of me is still holding onto the pain because I think that once I’m through grieving, you will be gone forever. But if I can still grieve, I can feel you. And I don’t want to let go.” The sun is beginning to set behind the trees as Cynthia composes herself, standing again. 

“I promise, Connor, that I’ll be back. That I’ll do better and I’ll make things right. For you. For my little boy.” She places a hand to the stone and says a prayer before pressing her lips to the cool marble. “I love you.” 

As she walks to her car she stops in her tracks. Sitting on the pathway in front of her is a dandelion, completely still in the blowing wind. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi im sobbing and I'm sorry this took so long I'm just an awful person.


End file.
